


Country Club Prison

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Clubbing, Gay Panic, Kinda, Lleyton Sparks presents: Another Incredibly Niche AU, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Sexual Experimentation, alright so, and an excuse to write roman in fishnet, and doesnt come home from college over the summer, can yall believe i finally wrote ambrollins lmao, he interacts w out and proud dean roman and finn, seth is a sheltered rich kid, this certainly is an au, this is just. self indulgent, who rebels against his parents (hunter and steph)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: Seth is so far out of his element he feels like he's drowning.





	1. Chapter 1

The club is loud, dark, hot. Random bursts of strobe lights show snapshots of the dancefloor, like a flipbook in poor lighting. Music throbs through the air, heavy in bass, more  _ felt _ than  _ heard _ . Body heat raises the temperature to an almost staggering level, something almost unbearable in its intensity. It's  _ packed _ , wall to wall with bodies moving rhythmically to the beat, sinuous, graceful, dangerous. 

Seth is so far out of his element he feels like he's drowning.

He's never been to so much as a kegger in his life, so the noise, the light, the alcohol, the crowd are something almost threatening. 

He's pressed to one wall, staring into his drink. He's never been one for alcohol, was never  _ allowed _ to drink, so he ordered the daily special. It looks positively  _ toxic _ , a gradiated pink and blue concoction that smells like sugar and tastes like hell. He’s taken maybe three sips of it but he still feels drunk, his head swimming. Maybe it’s the heat.

He stands there for hours, watching, studying,  _ analyzing _ . He knows he looks out of place, with his neat hair, square glasses, button up and argyle vest. His tie feels like it’s choking him. Everyone around him looks so  _ free _ , wearing what they want, dancing with who they want, just…. _ existing _ . 

He’s never had the luxury to just  _ be _ before.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by someone slamming into him, sending his drink into his chest. The alcohol seeps into the fabric, somehow still cold against his skin. He just  _ stands  _ there, mouth agape, looking at his ruined vest.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

The man who speaks is. Well. He sure is  _ something _ . Shaved strawberry blonde hair, tan skin, a thick beard, and round cheeks that don’t fit his face. Hooded blue eyes, bloodshot and droopy, stare at Seth. When he speaks, Seth finds himself watching the snaggled edge of his front tooth.

Seth doesn’t know how to respond. This man, who looks grizzled, wearing a fur-lined leather jacket over his bare chest and low-slung, painted on jeans, skin slathered in tattoos and peppered with piercings, is exactly the kind of man Seth was never allowed to associate with. He hears his mother drawling the words  _ gutter trash _ echoing in his head.

“Here, come with me.” The man grabs Seth’s wrists and starts pulling him through the crowd, which parts around him almost effortlessly. Seth can’t tell if it’s more like Moses or a rabid dog. He’s too stunned to fight back.

He finds himself in the club’s bathroom, which is surprisingly clean. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead and sting Seth’s eyes, too bright compared to the relative darkness of the club. Under the light, the man’s eyes are startlingly bright, and the ruddy tone of cheeks is visible. For some reason, Seth doesn’t think the flush is from alcohol.

A damp paper towel is lightly dabbed against Seth’s torso, and he almost jumps out of his skin. “Relax, man. I’m just trying to clean this up. Don’t want it to stain.” He goes back to his task.

After a moment, he straightens, the paper towel abandoned next to the sink. “Lose the vest. I can rinse it in the sink and dry it under the hand drier.” The man’s eyes are cutting, searching,  _ challenging _ .

Seth feels his face flush as he grabs the hem of his sweater vest. He carefully takes it off, smoothing out his tie and button up. The white fabric is still wet, and he can feel it sticking to his torso. He crosses his arms in front of the wet spot self consciously. 

The man takes the ruined vest and sets to work cleaning it. Seth can’t look away from the man’s hands; the line of his fingers, the scars and bruises dusting his knuckles, the fuzzy tattoos inked into his skin, the assortment of rings that glint in the light. His movements are careful, methodical, neat. It’s mesmerizing.

When Seth looks up, he finds the man staring at him through the mirror. Seth crimsons and casts his eyes away, guilty at being caught staring. There’s a long moment that stretches between them, tense and fraught with things that could be.

“I’m Dean.” Seth finally focuses on the man’s voice, and he instantly wishes he hadn’t. His voice is gruff, hardened by years of cigarettes, sounds like he’s been gargling gravel for fun and screaming for years. It’s a deep sound, visceral, hooks in Seth’s intestines and draws him  _ closer _ .

“Seth.” He manages to mumble, staring down at his brogues. They’re scuffed. He’s going to have to polish them when he gets the chance. He fiddles with the end of his tie, suddenly feeling like his hands have too much energy, have a mind of their own, need something to do to keep from reaching out.

“I’d ask if you come here often, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.” There’s a smile in Dean’s words, something Seth can hear more than he can see. He’s leaning against the counter, Seth’s stained sweater vest crumpled in his hands.

Seth knows it’s a come on, knows it’s flirtation in the most thinly-veiled sense, as if decency is something Dean is still trying to stretch over his actions. He knows this, knows it’s simple human interactions, but he doesn’t know  _ how _ to respond. He’s not used to this, only really interacts with his parents, with their stuffy business partners, with the girls they try to pair him with, with his childhood best friend. He feels like there’s something crushing his chest.

After a moment, Dean steps closer. It’s a small action, minute, leaves enough space that Seth can move away if he wants. He doesn’t know if he wants to. Dean’s hand lands on his shoulder, hesitantly, barely making contact. He’s leaving an out.

“You look really uncomfortable here. Do you have a ride home? I can drive you or call you a cab or something. You seem like you want to leave.” His voice is soft in a way that seems contradictory to everything else about him.

Seth shifts from foot to foot. “I can call my friend to come get me.” He’s too quiet, too vulnerable. 

Dean smiles. “I can wait with you outside, if you want.” He doesn’t remove his hand. Somehow, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable; it feels familiar, like something he  _ needs _ . Seth can’t remember the last time he was touched so casually.

He nods, looks down at the floor, feels like the bashful kid he thought he grew out of, that he was  _ conditioned _ out of. He lets Dean lead him outside, the crowd still moving from around them like they’re pushed away by an opposing magnet. Dean’s hand in his feels like. Well. Not like home, but like a comfort. He didn’t realize how much he needed this, this sort of casual, meaningless contact, until he had it.

Dean leans against the building next to Seth, still holding the ruined sweater vest. Seth’s hands are shaking as he dials Marek’s phone number, operating off muscle memory as he studies Dean.

He’s certainly attractive, but in an...  _ odd  _ way. He’s taller than Seth by a good few inches, despite the slouch of his shoulders. It takes Seth an embarrassingly long time to notice the three-inch heels on Dean’s boots. His legs are long, thighs well-muscled under the tight black denim of his jeans. His waist is  _ small _ , especially compared to the size of his thighs and the broad line of his chest. Seth notices with a flush that there are barbells through his nipples.

Marek’s voice is tired when he answers. “Dude, it’s 2 am and I have a fuckin’ exam. This better be good.” He forces the words around a yawn, voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I’m at The Kliq and I need a ride home.” Seth hates how small he sounds, how he feels like he’s 14 again, hates how his vision is starting to mist. He focuses on his scuffed shoes and the cracked pavement instead of the way Dean’s lips look around his unlit cigarette.

“The fuck are you doing at The Kliq?” Marek sounds ten times more alert, concern coloring his voice. “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine, nothing happened, I just really wanna go home.” Seth forms the words around the lump in his throat, his free hand scrubbing the tears from his eyes. His jaw hurts from how hard he’s clenching it.

“I can be there in ten if traffic’s ok. Think you can wait that long? If not, you could call a cab.” Seth can hear the muffled sounds of Marek stumbling to get dressed while keeping the ear to his phone.

“No, that’s fine, I can wait. I’m out front.” Marek double checks that Seth is ok before hanging up. He stares at his blank phone screen for a moment as he chokes back tears.

“Is there anything I can get you? Water, a hug, something like that? I’m pretty sure I can convince the bartender to give me something for you to snack on.” Dean’s words are careful, like he’s traversing a verbal landmine, polite in a forced way. Seth suddenly hates the respectable distance between them.

“Can I have a hug?” Seth’s voice wavers, the words rushed in one long jumble of syllables because he knows he’ll talk himself out of it if he gives himself even a second to think. He refuses eye contact, deciding to count the flowers growing through the pavement.

“I think I can manage that, Princess.” Dean’s words are light, jovial, and when Seth finally looks up, Dean’s eyes are kind. Dean holds his arms out and approaches slowly, his arms looping around Seth loosely.

Seth buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, arms hesitantly wrapping around Dean’s thin waist. He smells like leather and cinnamon, something sharp and heady that makes Seth’s head swim. He’s warm, his hands like brands against Seth’s clammy sides.

Seth knows he’s crying, knows Dean can probably feel it against his neck, but he can’t be bothered to care. Dean rocks them gently, rolling his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet and back again. He’s humming, something almost lost in the buzz of city traffic and the bass reverberating through the club’s open doors.

Seth pulls away after a long moment, hastily wiping away his tears as he shuffles back. He clears his throat, feels like he needs to say something, to explain, to  _ apologize _ , but he can’t get his mouth and his brain to cooperate. What finally comes out is, “You smell nice.” His face burns as soon as he realizes his words.

Dean barks out a laugh, a sudden, genuine sound that feels like sunshine after a storm. His smile is easy, comfortable. Seth finds himself staring at Dean’s lip rings and wondering how they’d feel against his own lips. It looks like Dean is wearing lipgloss.

“Would it be rude to ask for your number? At the very least, I wanna make sure you get home safe.” There’s something in his tone, something like worry, like kindness, like the sight of water in the desert, that makes Seth nod and hand over his phone. He resolutely doesn’t watch the movements of Dean’s fingers, doesn’t think about how  _ pretty _ they look in the harsh neon from the sign above them.

Dean hands his phone back, and Seth sees that he sent himself a text. The contact name is  _ Dean (Knight in Battered Leather) _ and Seth has to bite his lip to hold back a smile.

Marek’s beat up hatchback sedan rattles up to the curb a few minutes later. Seth can hear the Parkway Drive song blaring from the speakers and grins. He looks at Dean, tucking the loose strands of hair that have escaped his bun behind his ear shyly. “This is my ride.” He says after a moment.

Dean smiles at him. It makes his face scrunch, cheeks gathered tight, teeth on display behind his thin top lip. “Text me when you get home, ok?” He rests a hand on Seth’s shoulder.

“I will.” 

There’s a moment that stretches between them, broken only by Marek laying on the horn for a few seconds. Seth jumps at the sudden noise, and Dean  _ giggles. _ It’s a cute noise that makes Seth’s stomach flutter. 

“Have a good night, Seth.”

“You too.”

The smile Dean gives him as he gets into the car feels like a gift.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im binge writing for this in honor of my murder husband returning looking like the punk white trash he is :3

Seth doesn’t even have the door closed before Marek is grilling him. It’s not even verbal at first, just a heavy, inquisitive look paired with an almost comically raised eyebrow. Seth blushes and looks down at his lap when Marek finally says, “It seems like you’ve made a  _ friend. _ ”

“His name is Dean. He was helping me clean my vest.” He mumbles, ignoring the incredulous look Marek shoots him. His friend is clearly waiting for more information, but Seth refuses to offer it.

“At least tell me why you were at The Kliq.”  Seth can hear the distaste in Marek’s voice, and he completely understands. The Kliq is a popular club, but definitely not _ their scene _ . Hell, nothing is Seth’s scene, not really, but loud, busy downtown clubs is probably the farthest thing from. He shrugs.

“I was bored? Curious?” He pauses for a moment to find his words. Nothing seems to fit right. “I don’t think I can deal with mom and dad all summer. I told them I was working so I wouldn’t have to go back.” He confides. 

“I thought you loved your parents.” Seth doesn’t have to look at Marek to know that his brow is furrowed. The tension in the hand white-knuckling the steering wheel is palpable. 

Seth sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I do, but…“ He picks at his cuticles. “I’m tired of being the perfect child. I hate all the business meetings and stuffy dates and the judgment. I know I’ll never be good enough, so why keep trying?” He huffs out a humorless laugh.

“So you went to The Kliq? Hell of a first decision.” Marek snorts. His free hand lands on Seth’s knee. It’s a familiar gesture, one that Seth’s known for years. He’s struck, not for the first time, by the thought that Marek is the only good thing to come out of his hometown. 

“It’s the only place I could think to meet people.” He admits shyly. “Didn’t really matter. I just stood by the wall the whole night.” He fiddles with the end of his tie.

They’re quiet for the next few miles, nothing but the music blasting from the speakers to fill the silence. It’s easy, companionable, and Seth is suddenly very glad to have a friend like Marek.

When they reach their apartment, Marek turns and looks at Seth. “You know I’m always here for you. Whatever you need, whatever you do, I’m here. Got it?” He puts a hand on Seth’s shoulder, the weight a steady grounding presence. 

Seth nods weakly. He swallows around the lump in his throat and blinks back tears. He doesn’t like this, the tightness of his throat, the weight on his chest, the pounding of his blood in his ears. He forces himself to smile.

“Enough of that sappy, shit, dude. Let’s get inside. I need to sleep for a week.” He ignores the shaking of his hands as he gets out of the car. He decides to let Marek unlock the door.

Marek stops him before he shuffles to his room. “Text Dean, if you can. Might cheer you up.” He gives Seth an exaggerated wink, which succeeds in getting a laugh.

He shuts the door to his room and shoots Dean a quick text saying he got home safe. He throws his phone on the bed and sets about undressing. He’s down to his slacks when his phone chimes, a loud noise in the relative silence of the room.

_ im glad :D _

Seth’s too busy smiling like an idiot at his phone to respond before the next text comes through.

_ sweet dreams, princess _

He’s still grinning so hard his cheeks ache when he goes to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm cherry-mox on Tumblr! Come bug me!


End file.
